Y6 I 5 



HE Thumbscrew 




BY 



EDITH LYTTELTON 



^5 Cents, net. 



LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO 

Fourth Avenue and 30th Street 
NEW YORK. 






£,CI,A29i65]. 



THE THUMBSCREW 

TIME THE PRESENT 
DRAMATIS PERSONAE 



Will Dengate 
Joe Selden . 
Bernice Field 
Mrs. Field . 
Mrs. Dengate 
Mrs. Muggle 
Bob .... 
Fred .... 
Lucy .... 



Aged nineteen. 

Aged twenty-eight, engaged to Bernice. 

Aged twenty. \HoohandEye 

Stepmother to Bernice. i Carders. 

Mother of Will. 

The Middlewoman. 

Mrs. Field's Children. 



Scene: The stage is divided unequally into two parts 
hy a curtain. On the left and smaller side of the curtain 
is a table, a hed, and two chairs. One or two hits of cloth- 
ing hang on the walls. The ceiling slopes, and the only 
window is in a recess. There is no fireplace, only a small 
oil stove. On the hed lies W^illiam Dengate half-dressed, 
in the last stages of Potters' rot. He is so weak that he 
can hardly lift himself; several untidy hoolcs lie on his pil- 
low. 

On the right and larger side of the curtain there is a 
hig table, with five or six chairs, two beds, a fireplace, and 
two windows also in recesses. There is a little fire in the 
grate. Mrs. Field aiid Bernice are sitting at the table 
sewing hooks and eyes on to cards with an incredible swift- 
ness. The clock strikes five as the curtain goes up. 

» Copyright, 1911, by Edith Lyttelton. 
All Bights Reserved. 



2 THE THUMBSCREW 

Will Dengate raises himself on his elhoiv and listens 
for a moment — then he spealcs. 

Will. Bernice! {there is no answer, so he speaks a 
little louder with evident effort). Bernice! 

Bernice (without looking up). What is it, Will? 

Will. Is mother there? 

Bernice. No. 

Will. What's the time? 

Mrs. Field {glancing up at the clock). Mercy me! 
Why, it's just struck five {a pause). 

Bernice. Are you wanting anything, Will ? 

Will. No, thank you — only mother said she'd be back 
about five — this is her last day at that job. 

Mrs. F. {startled). You don't mean ter say 

Will. How much rent does mother owe you, Mrs. 
Field? 

Bernice. Oh, never bother about that. 

Will. I want to know — how much is it? 

Mrs. F. Five weeks, if you must 'ave it. 

Will. Five weeks — that's ten shillings — how she's ever 
going to pay it I don't know — two days this week is all 
she's had. 

Bernice. Don't you worry, Will — it's not much of a 

home, anyway. ^„_ . , , , , • 7 t 

[Will sinks lack on his oed. 

Mrs. F. {loivering her voice). It's all very well, Bernice, 
you talking like that, but I dunno where to turn next; 
there's the children to feed, to say nothing of their clothes. 
Fred's boots are something shameful. And you 'aven't 'ad 
a new coat — why, not since your uncle gave you that brown 
linsey ; and trade's getting w^orse every day. I'd turn Mrs. 
Dengate out, that I would, if it wasn't for Will. I 'aven't 
the 'art to do it, not with Will lying there fit to die any 
minit. I 'aven't the 'art. 

Bernice. Mrs. Dengate '11 get another job soon, I ex- 
pect; she's lots of spunk. 



THE THUMBSCREW 3 

Mrs. F. You want more'n that, nowadays. Why, when 
I married yer pore father — you was a little thing of five 
then — 'e was making 'is thirty shillings a week reg'lar, and 
by the time the third baby — Fred I mean — was born we 'ad 
to manage on twenty and less, 'cos of 'is fits, and so it's 
gone on bad to worse — bad to worse, never bad to better. 

Bernice. Aren't the children coming home? — you said 
it was five. 

Mrs. F. ! there's a extry class or something. Don't 
you remember? — they never think of the pore mothers. 

Bernice. It's better for the children, anyway. 

Mrs. F. I dunno that — it means less food. 

Bernice. Did you hear any more about the changes at 
the works to-day? 

Mrs. F. Can't say as I did. I 'ope it's all talk— if 
they're going to fetch our work, 'stead of making us take it 
there, they'll 'ave it out of us some other way. 

Bernice. I hate that walk to the works every morning 
with the cards — that I do ! 

Mrs. F. It's a bit of a change anyway from sitting 'ere 
all day and 'alf the night. 'And me them strips, will yer? 
I've nearly done my last dozen gross. 

Bernice. I never can work so quick as you. 

Mrs. F. It'll come — You 'aven't been at it so long as 
me. If I was to turn dotty, my fingers would go on just 
the same, I believe (she laughs). Joe coming in to-night? 

Bernice. I suppose he will ; he generally does Fridays. 

Mrs. F. You're a lucky girl. Joe's sure to get on, 'e is ; 
'e's got spunk if you like. You'll be keeping yer own 'ouse, 
and I'll be sitting like this sewed to my chair till I'm pulled 
off same as the 'ooks and eyes — though 'ow I'm going to 
manage without you beats me. 

Bernice. Joe's not in the marryin' line yet. 

Mrs. F. That's all very fine. If 'e was t© get a good 
job to-morrow, you'd be off, and I'm not the one to blame 



4 THE THUMBSCREW 

you, neither. It's crule work this; but it'd be the work- 
'ouse for all of us, in spite of the children lending a 'and 
as they do. 

Bernice {suddenly). Mother, d'you ever wonder 
whether the workhouse wouldn't be best after all? The 

children might do better, and you wouldn't have to 

Mrs. F. Bernice! well, I never! — to think of your 
father's daughter sitting there and saying such a thing. 
The work'ouse indeed ! — it'll 'ave to be over my dead body 
first. The Fields don't go to the work'ouse — no fear! 
Why yer father's father was a landowner, 'e was ! Don't 
you never go talking to me about the work'ouse again, 
though I did 'ave a second cousin in it once't. 

[Bernice says nothing, hut goes on worlcing. 

Mrs. Field gathers rage as she thinTcs over the 

conversation. 

Mrs. F. If you want to go and leave me, Bernice, 

don't you stop for me — I can manage all right. I'm not one 

to stand in anybody's way, I'm not — so don't consider me. 

Bernice. Haven't I always said I won't leave you till 

the children are out? 

Mrs. F. Yes, you 'ave — and I believe you mean it, too ; 
ye're a good girl, Bernice, but don't get talking about the 
work'ouse no more — it upsets me! 

[Will has been listening to the talk in the 
intervals of his reading, and now joins in, rais- 
ing himself on his elbow. 
Will. There's no more harm in the work'ouse than 
there is in anything else — it's all hell this life, anyway — 
what I'm going to do is the only sensible thing. 

Mrs. F. {as if she were speaking to a child). What's 
that? 

Will. Get out of it — die ! 

[Mrs. Field and Bernice glance at one 
another. 



THE THUMBSCEEW 5 

Mrs. F. Oh, Will; we 'aven't got to that yet; come! 
Don't talk so silly ! 

Will. I wonder why it always shocks you so when I 
talk about dying, Mrs. Field? 

Bernice. Don't answer him, mother, or we'll have his 
wild talk. 

Mrs. F. Your 'ead's full of trash from them books. 
You can talk about what you like, my boy, it won't make 
no difference. 

Will. That's quite true. 

[There is a knocking at the door. Bernice 
lool's up, slightly moved, but says nothing. 
Mrs. F. Come in. 

[Joe Selden enters. 
Joe. Good evening, Mrs. Field— good evening, Bernice. 
[He puts his hand on Bernice's shoulder for 
a moment. Neither of the women stops work- 
ing. Joe throws his cap on the bed with a 
half angry gesture. He speaks in a dry irri- 
tated way. 
Joe. At it as usual! You've sat 'ere long enough! 
Put 3^our hat on and come out for a walk. 
Bernice. I can't. 

Joe. Why not? (in a lower tone) I've got something 
particular to say to you. 

[His tone makes Bernice glance at him 
sharply — she almost stops working. 
Bernice. Why, whatever's the matter, Joe? 
Joe. I must have a talk with you, d'y'hear? I want 
to talk to you ! 

Bernice. But I haven't 'alf done; mother's through 
with hers, and look at this . . . (pointing to a pile of un- 
finished work). 

Mrs. F. You go out with 'im. Carry my lot to the 
works and I'll finish yours. . . . Come on. 



6 THE THUMBSCREW 

Bernice {ohstinatehj) . No, no, I won't have it, you've 
done more'n your share to-day, as it is. 

[Mks. Field hesitates a moment, then she 
hustles about with her pile of cards. 
Mrs. F. Crikey I'm late now — I must be off — no time 
to cut the children's bread and jam. You must see to it, 
Bernice. 

Bernice. All right. 

[Mrs. Field pichs up the bundle of cards 
which though large is light, and goes out. Joe 
makes a jerk with his thumb in the direction 
of the curtain, meaning to ask whether Will is 
there. Bernice replies by nodding her head, 
upon which Joe comes and sits close to her. 
Bernice never leaves off her work for a moment. 
Joe (speaking very fast, low, and eagerly). Look here 
my girl, things have come to a point — I've lost my job. 
Bernice (dropping her needle and thread). Joe! 
Joe. Yes ; — you don't ask how, or why. You're right ! 
There ain't but one reason nowadays. Trade's slack. No 
demand for British carpentering, so out we go — half the 
hands turned down, me among them — that's all right, I 
don't complain. They're within their rights. I've got a 
week's wages instead of notice and there you are (he puts 
his hand in his pocket and pulls out some coins). But 
where do I come in? Nobody says I ain't a good work- 
man — I'd like to see the man who dare to. I ain't got no 
vices — I don't drink nor bet — I'm a steady respectable man 
I am. But that don't make no difference; I'm fired like 
the rest! 

Bernice. What are you going to do? 
Joe. Do? ^Yhy there's only one thing to do. Get quit 
of this blasted country and go to a new one. 

Bernice (stops ivork this time). Lord! emigrate, do 
you mean ? Oh Joe ! it hasn't come to that, has it ? 



THE THUMBSCREW 7 

Joe. Yes it 'as, and I'm not sure it ain't a blessing in 
disguise. I'm sick of this tyrant-ridden country, I am- 
I want to go to a place where a man's given a chancet 
that's all I ask for— a chancet. 

Bernice. But ain't it just the same out there? 
Joe. No, it ain't— tliere's more room— not so many 
other people, not so thick on the ground, no damned 
aristocracy— I've been making inquiries about Canada. 
Canada seems a decent place. See here, Bernice {he un- 
rolls a coloured advertisement) ; they'll give you one 'un- 
dred and sixty acres of land free if you want to settle on 
it, they will— one 'undred and sixty acres— why, that's as 
big as 'arf Hyde Park. They want us out there, that's the 
difference. It'd be rough and hard in course at first, till 
I'd built a house— See these pretty little 'ouses— 'ome- 
steads they call 'em-I'll build you one just like this- 
I know 'ow— and they advance you money for your plant, 
and if I can raise a little towards the fare they'll advance 
me a ticket, and you too. I've been to a emigration so- 
ciety already, 'coz I knew things was getting bad, and I'm 
what they call a suitable case— there's a job I can 'ave on 
a new railway from the day I land, till I can look about 
me a bit. It'll be all right and you've got to come with me ! 
Bernice. Me ? 

Joe. Yes '00 else? We're engaged, aren't we? 
Bernice. I can't— I can't leave the others. 
Joe. Damn the others! We've got to think of our- 
selves—that's the best way; '00 ever thinks of us, I should 
like to know— I know what's what— I've the right to live 
and the right to work. Look 'ere, Bernice {putting his 
arm around her), don't be shirty about the sudden way like 
I've sprung it on you— it isn't sudden to me. I've been 
thinkin' a long time— and it's much the best for you too. 
I declare I'm glad to go when I think of getting you out of 
this 'ell of a life. You're nothing but a slave now. 



8 THE THUMBSCEEW 

Bernice. What's the good of talking? I can't come 
with you ! 

[Will, as Joe's voice rises, has begun to 
listen; he gets deeply interested, drops his hook 
and leans on his elbow. 
Joe. Why not? That's what I want to know! Why 
not ? Yon like this sort of life 'ere, I suppose ! Think it's 
jolly don't you to sit sewing 'ooks on to cards day and 
night — I should like to kill them ! 
Bernice. Them? Who? 

Joe. The damned grasping aristocrats and capitalists. 
Wliat right 'ave they got to the money, and the land, no 
more right than you nor me ! 

Bernice. I suppose they bought the land. 
Joe. Bought the land! Not they! Inherited it they 
did without a drop of sweat ! That'll be altered some day. 
We're moving a bit even 'ere ; in Canada every man's 
equal. 

Will. Funny place Canada must be! 

[Joe is startled, Bernice only smiles. 
[Will unseen by the other two has begun 
with some difficulty to get out of bed. 
Joe. How do. Will? 

Will. Wait a minute, I must join in this. 
Joe. Dang it — we don't want 'im. 
Bernice. Poor Will ! 
Joe. If on'y you'd ha' come out — 

[Will has painfully dragged himself to the 
edge of the curtain and comes round it. 
Bernice {who does not stop working). Help him, Joe. 
[Joe goes towards him, but Will has al- 
ready dropped into a chair; he pants with 
exhaustion. 
Will. What's all this about going to Canada? 
Joe. Well, if you're going to join in I must talk. You 



THE THUMBSCREW 9 

'eard what I said— I'm sick of this blasted country, I am ! 
Look at Bernice! Pretty sight, ain't she? No time to 
go out, no time to tidy 'er 'air — no time to improve 'er 
mind. 

Bernice {laughing a little and putting her hand up to 
he?- hair to tidy it). 0, my mind ! That don't matter. 

Joe. Yes, it do matter. You've got a mind, I suppose, 
like I 'ave? Lord knows I don't get much time! Lord 
knows I work 'ard enough; but it's nothing to what you 
'ave. You ought to strike — ^you ought to scream out you 
won't put up with it ! 

Will. It wouldn't do any good ; nothin's any good. 

Joe. You've 'it it! It wouldn't do no good! I must 
clear out, and Bernice's got to come with me! 

Will {looking at Bernice). Well it may be the way 
for you and her — I dunno ! But it don't help anybody else ! 

Bernice. Go on, Will. 

Will. You haven't thought about it, Bernice, have 
you ? But I have — you see lying here all day I haven't got 
anything else to do but read and read, and then think and 
think. Seems to me everything's gone wrong in the world ! 

Joe. That's right. Will— that's right! 

Will. There ought to be a change all the way through. 

Joe. That's it — no rich — no poor — every man for 'is- 
self. Cut up the big properties and divide 'em round. 
Don't 'ave no rich nor no poor. 

Will. There'll always be rich people and poor people. 

Joe. You read what 'Enry George says, and Bernard 
Shaw, and Keir 'Ardie — we're going to change everythin'. 

Will. You listen to me, Joe — all that's no good, I 
tell you — not a bit. You can't put human nature into 
strait jackets. We're all greedy, and hungry, and cruel — 
no laws, and no revolutions, and no expropriations ain't 
going to do the trick — it's a new stomach that's wanted. 

Joe. You ain't practical — you don't know practical life. 



10 THE THUMBSCEEW 

Will. Oh yes, I do. I'm not much younger than you. 
I've done my turn; why I caught this (slapping himself) 
working in the potteries — I know well enough ! I tell you, 
England's a hell for people like us! Haven't I lived be- 
hind this curtain for months, and thankful to Bernice and 
her mother for that — haven't I seen Bernice's cheeks get 
paler and paler, and the children forced to work half the 
night — it's shameful ! it's shameful ! 

[Will is seized with a sort of paroxysm of 
excitement. 

Bernice. Don't take on so. Will dear — it's bad for you. 

Will {recovering himself). You're quite right — it 
won't do no good either. 

Joe. If I didn't believe we can pull down them capital- 
ists I should — I should go to 'ell — that's all. 

Will. Well, that wouldn't be much use either. Why 
does Bernice have to work on starvation wages, and me lose 
my life in that other job? — We're supposed to be civilised 
— in the van of civilisation — but we're not a bit — we're 
still savages — we just kill anybody who's in our way — same 
as you want to kill the capitalists, Joe. 

Joe. In course — serve 'em right — leastways divide up 
their property. 

Will. It would all come back to the same thing in 
the end. I tell you there's a bloody tyrant who rules this 
country — his name is Competition. We wriggle and wrig- 
gle — ^but we can't get away from him. 

Joe {sullenly.) That's just why I want to clear out! 

Will. Oh, clear out if you like — What I mean is that 
you haven't found the cure. What about England? What 
about all the rest? You go to a country where Competition 
isn't so full grown, that's about it — but the tyrant's there 
all the while — after a bit the country fills up, and it's as 
bad as ever. 

Bernice. Oh dear! oh dear! 



THE THUMBSCREiW 11 

Will. Sometimes I think there is a chancre comino: — 
but it's mighty slow. It'll be a different sort of com- 
petition — {he laughs half shyly) — a competition in love 
and kindness, a competition in givin', a new heart for the 
world. 

Joe. Pah! — You'll wait a long time, my boy, if that's 
what you expect. 

Will {rising from his chair). I don't expect it — I tell 
you this world's rotten through and through. Go to 
Canada certainly, take Bernice too if you can — but it 
won't make things any better really — not really — If I was 
going to live I'd spend my time talking and talking to 
everybod}^ — But I'm dying — and I'm glad! I'm sick of 
this world. — I'm not strong enough for it — like you, Joe, 
I want to clear out. Even if I was strong I believe I'd 
want to go — it's all too difficult — too much for me ! 

Bernice {rising). Will! Dear Will — you'll pay for 
this — come back to bed. 

Will {his voice almost in a scream). I tell you I'd kill 
myself now, if it wasn't for mother — I'm nothing but a 
burden to her — and she knows it — but she'd never forgive 
me if I did away with myself, and it won't be long. Listen 
to me, Joe and Bernice, and I'm one as knows what he's 
talking about. The best way out is to die, you take my 
word for it — die both of you — it's the best way. 

Bernice {dully). What about the others? — Here, Joe, 
help me to get him back. 

[Joe silently helps W^ill, and they are both 
supporting him ivhen Mrs. Dengate enters on 
her side of the curtain. She gives a sharp 
glance round, and then instantly comes round. 

Mrs. D. {looking at her son's flushed face). Well, I 
never ! I should ha' thought, Bernice Field, as you'd 'a' 
known better, than let Will get out of bed like this — Come 
on now — Back you go! 



12 THE THUMBSCREW 

Will. It's all right, mother, I've been enjoying myself. 

[Roughly but tenderly Mrs. Dengate helps 

him hack, leaving Joe aiid Bernice on their 

side of the curtain. 

Joe. Now, Bernice, you're not going to listen to all that 

rot, I 'ope — you must make up your mind {he catches 

hold of her). I want you — Give me a kiss — Come on — 

What! you're not afraid of me since last Saturday, are 

you? 

[Bernice ivith a strange hind of repressed 
passion turns to him, and puts her arms round 
his nech. 
Bernice. Don't go, Joe, oh don't go. Will said it was 
no use — don't go and leave me ! 

Joe. I don't want to leave you, I want to take you. 
'Ave a little courage, my girl. 
Bernice. Oh ! I must finish. 

[She sits down to the table again and begins 

to work. Joe curses under his breath, and 

walks up and down. 

Joe. You're nothing but a slave ! They've ruined you 

with their blasted competition ! I don't believe you mind, 

no, I don't believe — 

[The door bursts open, and the three chil- 
dren rush in from school. They go straight to 
the table and look for food, like little animals. 
Bernice. Mother hadn't time to cut the bread, Bob — 
you'd better do it. 
Bob. All right. 

[He runs to a cupboard in the corner, gets 
out a stale loaf, and begins to cut hunks which 
he spreads ivith a thick gluey jam. Lucy puts 
the kettle on the fire in a businesslike way, 
while Fred examines Joe's pockets surrepti- 
tiously. 



THE THUMBSCEEW 13 

Lucy (suddenly). Wliy does the lid of the kettle begin 
to 'op so? 

Bob. 'Coz it's boiling, stoopid — taike it off ! 
Lucy. But why? 

\^SliG takes the kettle off and fills up the 
teapot. 
Joe (satirically). The water wants to get out, Lucy, 
there ain't room in the kettle ! 

He looks at Bernice pleased with his simile. 

Lucy. Oh! (She replaces the kettle on the fire.) 

Why it's 'opping just the same. There's lots o' room now. 

Bob. Taike it off the 'ob, stoopid, or the bottom'll fall 

out! 

[Lucy obeys, but is obviously unsatisfied. 
The boys sit down to their tea and at once 
stuff their mouths with the bread and jam. 
Lucy. 'Ow's Will? (She goes round the curtain, but 
seeing Mrs. Dengate, who does not give her a very 
kind look, she retreats hastily.) 
Bernice (very kindly). Now, Lucy, come along, and 
eat 3^er tea — there ain't a minute to lose; you've each got 
two dozen to finish before you go to bed, or there won't be 
no jam next week — you must 'urry. 

[Lucy joins the rest. She sees at once that 
Bernice has nothing. 
Lucy. Why, you 'aven't given none to Bernice. 

[She pours out a cup and puts it beside 
Bernice, who does not stop working, but just 
takes a sip now and then. 
Bernice. Have a drop, Joe? 

Joe. No, thank you; the sight of them 'ooks and eyes 
is enough to turn my stomach! (He begins impatiently 
walking up and down.) 'Ow much do you make in the 
week, tell me that — all of you — now then — come on — you 
first, Bernice. 



14 THE THUMBSCKEW 

Bernice. We get ninepence a pack (pointing to one). 

Joe. 'Ow much does it come to in the week? 

Bernice. Sometimes four shillin' — sometimes four-and- 
six. I have made five with luck. 

Joe. 0, ^ave you ? — hours, I suppose, six to ten at night ? 

Bernice. About that. 

Joe. And the kids — What do they make? 

Bernice. It's counted in with mine and mother's. 

Joe. Four shillin', then — and yer mother? 

Bernice. Oh, mother ! she does better — never makes 
less nor six — often seven. 

Joe. Ten to eleven shillin's a week. What's yer 
rent ? 

Bernice. Now then, Lucy — hurry up there — get the 
tea things cleared and set to. 

[Lucy clears the table very quickly, and then 
obediently sits down to her work. The children 
giggle a little, but on the whole they work with 
great concentration. 

Joe {angrily). What's yer rent, I say? 

Bernice. Four shillin'. 

Joe. Eleven shillin' a week at most; four shillin' rent. 

Bernice. Mrs. Dengate's supposed to pay two. 

Joe. Does she ever pay? 

Bernice. When she can — ^but Will 

Joe. Oh, I know. What it means is this; you've six 
to seven shillin' a week for food and clothes and every 
blessed thing — and there's five mouths to feed, and five 
bodies to dress, and ten legs, and ten feet, and 

Bernice {laughing a little). Oh, don't, Joe. 

Joe. You beat me, you do — clean — 'ow you ever 

[Everyone is startled by a knock at the door. 

Bernice. Come in. 

[Mrs. Muggle enters. She is a plump Jewess, 
and wears a beaded cape. 



THE THUMBSCEEW 15 

Mrs. M. Mrs. Field live here? 
Bernice. Yes 

[Mrs. Muggle doses the door after her in 
a confidential way. 

Bernice. She's out. 

Mrs. M. (consulting a list). Ow! out is she? When'll 
she be in? 

Behnice. What do you want?— I'll tell her. 

Mrs. M. Want— I want to see her. You're 'ook and 
eye carders, I know ! You're on my list. Mrs. Field's gone 
to take 'er lot to the works, I suppose. 

Bernice. Yes— she'll be back directly. 

Mrs. M. Pore soul. I pity 'er, I do— working all day 
and then 'aving to fetch and carry as you might say — crule 
I call it. 

[No one answers, but Bernice for a mo- 
ment drops her work. She seems to anticipate 
something disagreeable. 
Mrs. M. {her voice getting more and more soapy). 
Well now, that's just what I've looked in about, this 
fetchin' and carryin'. I'm going to do it for yer in future 
— see my motor van! 

[She pushes forward a large, untidy double 

perambulator, on to which a stack of cardboard 

sheets is already fastened. 

I shall come round twice every day with this, bringing 

yer stuff and taking what yer've done. I shall paiy you, 

and I'll collect. 

Bernice. Mother'd rather deal direct with the foreman, 
I expect. 

Mrs. M. Oh, she would, would she ; well then, she'll 'ave 
to give up, that's all. I've bought the work, d'you under- 
stand ? Your work and a lot of other work too, and them 

that don't like it must lump it, or go without 

Bernice. Do you mean to say 



16 THE THUMBSCEEW 

Mrs. M. I mean to say that the manager will only give 
you the stufT through me — now do you understand ? 

Bernice {after a pause). Is it the same pay? 

Mrs. M. (glad to have got to the point). Xo, my dear, 
it's not the same pai}^ ; 'ow could it be ? — I've got my living 
to make as well as you — I save you lots, I do — no walks in 
the 'eat or the wet — I do all that for yer — to say nothing 
of the time you save — nearly a 'ole 'our — you can't expect 
all that for nothin' now, can you? 

Bernice. We can't work for less than we get now. 

Mrs. M. Oh yes, you can! I know what you get very 
well; ninepence a pack — that's it, isn't it? — ninepence a 
pack and find your own thread and needles — well, I'm going 
to take twopence off for each pack — no one can say that's 
much for all the work and trouble I shall save you — that'll 

come to about two shillings a week for the lot you do 

[Bernice in her agitation rises, looking 
from Joe to the Children and bach again. 

Bernice. Two shillings a week off? 

Joe. Don't you do it, Bernice — stand up to 'er, tell 'er 
you won't 'ave it — it's blackmail — just dirty blackmail, 
that's what it is ! 

Bernice {resolutely sitting down to her work). It 
won't do — we can't work for less. 

Mrs. M. {laughing). Oh! you can't, can't you — very 
well, there's lots that can, ha ! ha ! lots — I'm a just woman, 
I am — I could get people to do the work for less than I'm 
offering you, but I'm a just woman, and I says — I'll give 
the old workers a first chance. That's what I'll do, I says — • 
yer mother won't be such a fool as to throw it up, I know^ 
I'll come back in a few minutes and talk to her — you young 
ones are feather 'eaded, you don't understand. 

[Mrs. Field enters the room while Mrs. 
MuGGLE is speaking. Mrs. Muggle pretends not 
to see her, hut raises her voice more and more. 



THE THUMBSCREW 17 

Mrs. M. Mrs. Field'll listen to reason, she will; she'll 
know what it means, not to 'ave the work coming in ! She 
don't want to starve — not she! 

Mrs. F. {sharply). What's the row, Bernice? 

Bernice {working feverishly). Ask Joe. 

Joe. Yes! ask me! I'll tell you. Do you know what 
it is — the works have chucked you! They've 'anded you 
over body and soul, bag and baggage, to that grinning 
'Ebrew there — she's the middle-woman, she is. She carries 
the stuff for you and docks you off twopence the pack. 
Work as you may, you can't make more'n seven shillin' a 
week after this — that's what it means — Now d'you under- 
stand ? 

Mrs. F. {tGrrificd). Don't, Joe — don't — It ain't true; 
they just told me I should 'ave my work later — but I never 
thought — say it ain't true, Joe. 

Fred {in a sharp shrill voice, dropping Ibis work and 
jerking his thumb towards Mrs. Muggle). You turn 'er 
out, mother — turn 'er out ; she's a blackmailer — Joe said so ! 

Mrs. F. You get on with your work now, and don't 
waste time — go on, I say. 

Joe. The boy's quite right, Mrs. Field — are you going 
to submit to this sort of thing any longer? You've been 
treated like slaves all this time, now they're going to kick 
you, same as if you was dogs. Don't you stand it — throw 
up the job ! 

Mrs. F. {turning to Mrs. Muggle, very pale and reso- 
lute, but miserably frightened). Twopence off each pack, 
mum ; you can't mean that — why, I can't make enough as it 
is — you can't mean you'll only pay sevenpence a pack ? 

Mrs. M. {fiercehj). That's what I do mean then — it's 
taike it or leave it; there's 'caps and 'caps that'll taike the 
work and glad to at that figure. 

Joe {fiercely). Go and find them then — and don't 
come 'ere no more ! 



18 THE THUMBSCEEW 

Mrs. M. Come, Mrs. Field, be reasonable, my dear; I 
don't say as how I mightn't rise to sevenpence farthing, 
even sevenpence ha'penny a gross, just to keep you — you 
work so well — but more'n that — no — I've got to live too! 
[Mrs. Dengate, who has heen listening all 
the while on the other side of the curtain, now 
comes round it. She stands irresolutely look- 
ing from one to the other. 

Mrs. D. I've finished my job to-day — my boy'll starve 
soon — I'll take the work at sevenpence^that is in course 
if Mrs. Field won't! 

[She looks uneasily round again. Will 
makes a gesture of diso.pproval, and then leans 
back and laughs audibly. 

Mrs. M. (laughing too). There! You see 'ow the land 
lies now, don't you. Yer own lodger — ha ! ha ! But now 
look 'ere, Mrs. — Mrs. — what's yer name? 

Mrs. D. Mrs. Dengate. 

Mrs. M. What an outlandish, countrified name — but 
never mind that — 'ave you ever done this 'ook and eye 
carding before — do you know the trade? 

Mrs. D. No. 

Mrs. M. I can't give you the same paiy then — Mrs. 
Field's a trained 'and, she is — I've gone a long way to meet 
Mrs. Field, I 'ave, on'y she don't understand it ! you're raw 
at it, you ain't worth 'arf what she is. 

Mrs. D. I'd soon learn — I'm quick. 

Joe (white with rage). You're quick enough at taking 
the bread out of other people's mouths ! 

Mrs. D. (whimpering). I'm sure I mean no 'arm; 
wot's the good of letting the work go if Mrs. Field won't 
take it? 

Mrs. F. (angry, her voice rising to a scream). WTio 
said I wouldn't take it? You're a nice one, you are — 'old 
your tongue. 



THE THUMBSCREW 19 

Mrs. D. I'm not going to 'old my tongue — I've got my 
rights as well as you, tho' I do owe you for the rent ! Wot's 
the good of letting the work go, I says, there's 'undreds 
more like me as'd take it! 

Joe. Votes for women, I say. 

Mrs. F. {suddenly surrendering). I don't want no vote 
— it's work I want — work! — and work I'm going to 'ave, 
in spite of you, Mrs. Dengate. I'll take your terms, Mrs. 
Muggle, sevenpence 'alfpenny a gross, though they're crule 
— and wicked — may God forgive you — (fiercely to the chil- 
dren) : Don't sit idling there now, you little brats — you'll 
'ave to work double as 'ard after this — and every morning, 
too. 

[Lucy tuhimpers a little, but all three obedi- 
ently go on. 

Mrs. M. (in an oily voice). I'm glad you've seen reason, 
Mrs. Field — ^you're wise, as I knew you would be. Now 
what about your daughter 'ere — she's a good worker, too, 
I'm told. 

Joe. Yes, she's a good worker; much too good for the 
likes of you— Get out of this place, I say, or I'll kick you 
out! You won't come over me with your soapy slaver. 
Miss Field refuses your offer — do you hear? She won't 
'ave it, she throws up the job ! Give ' it to Mrs. Dengate 
'ere — she doesn't mind 'ow much dirt she eats. Give it 
to 'er (to Mrs. Dengate^ who moves forward) but don't 
you dare to say a word, you snivelling back-door thief ! 

Mrs. M. (sweetly). 1 should be sorry to lose you, Miss 
Field — take a little time to decide. Never be in a 'urry is 
one of my mottoes — I'll come back when I've been to one 
or two other people. Don't be in a 'urry — take your time 
(she edges nearer to the door). 'Ere's your lot, Mrs. 
Field (she giggles). I knew you'd be sensible, so I brought 
it with me — (She hands Mrs. Field a great pile of card- 
board and paper) — I shall be back before long. 



20 THE THUMBSCREW 

[She goes out. Mrs. Field, really quite he- 
side herself, boxes Fred's ears, shakes Bob, and 
slaps Lucy. 
Mrs. F. 'Ow dare you dawdle like this 'ere now, 'aven't 
you ^eard what's happened? 

[Bob merely shakes himself. Fred tries to 
get up, hut is pulled down hy Bob, who per- 
fectly understands that his Mother is not really 
unkind; Lucy hegins to howl at the top of her 
voice. 
Bernice (putting out her hand). It's all right, Lucy 
dear — don't cry (hut Lucy wails on). 

Mrs. F. Ow, stop yer noise, can't yer ! We 'aven't got 
time for this sort of thing now — 'ere, Lucy, come on! I 
didn't mean to slap yer, but I'm that put out — come 'ere ! 
[The child at once runs to her mother, who 
sits on a chair and puts Lucy on to her lap. 
They hoth cry quietly. 
Joe {suddenly). Look here, Mrs. Field — it may be all 
right for you to give in — you've no trade union you 
women — and you're not young, and there's the kids — but 
Bernice's not going on an}^ longer in this 'ell, I can tell 
you that ! I'm going to Canada to-morrow, and she's com- 
ing with me! We'll be married at the Registry in the 
morning; we're both in the parish — I've got all the papers 
{he pulls them out of his pocket). 

Mrs. F. {after a pause of astonishment, deeply offended). 
And never to say a word to me — well, Bernice, I didn't 
know as you w^as so artful — that I didn't — I 'ope you'll be 
'appy, I'm sure — but it's that sudden — oh ! what shall I do 
without you — oh. Oh Lordy ! Lordy ! Oh, Bernice ! 

[She throws her apron over her head, and 
rocks backwards and forwards crying. Bernice 
gets up quickly and goes to her, kneeling before 
her. 



THE THUMBSCRElW 31 

Bernice. Don't, mother, don't take on so! I didn't 
know nothing about it — Joe's settled it all — don't cry— I 
never knew a word till this evening, and I don't know what 
to do now, I don't really — I don't seem to see how I can 
leave you and the children (she gives a sort of gulp). 

Mrs. F. {mollified). You didn't know a word neither? 
You've not just sprung this on me, Bernice Field, 'ave 
you now? 

Bernice. No, no, mother ! 

[The Children get up and run to Bernice. 
Bob. Don't go away, Bernice, don't ! 
Fred {luith a sob in his voice). I don't want Bernice 
to go. 

[Lucy begins to howl again. 
Mrs. F. (gradually regaining control of her voice). 
Now, you children, stop your bellowing! What 'ave you 
got to cry for, I should like to know. 'Old your tongues. 
Bernice's going to get married, and we've all got to be very 
'appy and Jolly. It's a bit sudden, but that don't make no 
difference — we're going to 'ave a weddin'. 

[Will, who has been listening, tries to get 
out of bed, but is too weak. He cannot keep 
silent — all at once he holds out his arms, and 
tvith a cry, half of love and half of anguish, 
he calls out. 
Will. Bernice ! Bernice ! come here ! 

[Bernice jumps up at once, and pushing 

past Mrs. Dengate, goes straight to Will, who 

puts his arms round her neck and pulls her down 

to him. lie will not let her go for what seems 

a long minute — not till a fit of coughing obliges 

him to. 

Will {in a low voice). I can't stop you, Bernice — I 

can't stop you — it may be better for you — oh, it may — but 

it ain't the right way out. 



22 THE THUMBSCEEW 

Bernice. I haven't said I will yet — I haven't promised — 
Will. Do you love him — Joe^ I mean? — 
Bernice. I don't know. 

Will. If you do, it's different — you've got a light in- 
side of you then. Love's the same thing as dying — it makes 
you understand, and not mind things hurting — I know — 
Bernice. Joe's been good to me always. 
Will (tenderly.) I know he has — ^he's a good chap, 
Joe is! (he speaks with great eagerness, stroking and clasp- 
ing Bernice's hands). But oh, Bernice, I can't think 
what's to happen to me? If only you could have waited 
a week or two ! I sha'n't last long — but it's blamed hard 
to say good-bye to you before [he hrushes some tears away). 
Bernice. Will, Will — you pull me so hard — 
Will. Don't you worry, dear — it doesn't make no dif- 
ference really — not reall}^ — I know that — I've seen through 
things, and nothing of that sort matters. We can't put it 
all straight. There's no way except by everybody being 
different — Not you, Bernice — no not you — you're all love 
and beauty — and that's why— — {he turns his face aside 
unable to go on). 

Bernice (in a whisper). Wliat shall I do. Will? — Tell 
m€-^quick ! 

Will. Don't ask me — you mustn't — it's too hard — oh, 
my dear — ^go ! — it'll be better for you — you'll have children, 
and there'll be the sun shining. 

[They hold hands for a moment tvithout 
speaking, only looking sadly into each other s 
eyes. In the meanwhile on the other side of 
the curtain Mrs. Field has set to work again, 
and so have the Children. She has been carry- 
ing on a conversation with Joe, who has sat 
down in Bernice's chair, Mrs. Dengate still 
hovering in the background. Joe getting weary, 
says in an undertone to Mrs. Field: 



THE THUMBSCEEW 23 

Joe. I'm afraid of that there Dengate — he's full of 
queer notions — he'll be upsetting Bernice — she ain't firm 
yet. 

Mrs. F. {nods her head wisely). Will's all right — he's 
only (taps her forehead significantly). Bernice — when 
Will's done congratulating of you — come back ! 

[Beknice gets up and returns, while Will 
lies back with his eyes shut. 

Mrs. F. Now then, Bernice — here's Joe waiting to 
know if it's Yes or No. 

Bernice (tiuisting her hands). I don't know what to 
do — I don't know what's right to do. 

Joe. I'll tell you what's right ! Come with the man 
you've given your word to — you and me can make a life 
for ourselves out there away from all the others. 

Bernice. Yes — away from all the others? Oh, Will, 
Will! What am I to do? 

Joe. You talk a blasted lot too much to that dotty fool 
in there — what does it matter what 'e thinks about any- 
think — it's all very fine for 'im — 'e's dying 'e is! 

Mrs. F. Joe's quite right, Bernice — If I was a young 
woman I'd do the same — I'd conie now if it warn't for 
the kids. 

Bernice. But how can you manage, mother, I don't see 
as how you can — the pay's cut down and everything. 

Mrs. F. {with a forced cheerfulness ivhich is really 
pathetic). I'm sure I don't know, but don't you worry no 
more about me — Joe's got a good job — you take it on too. 
I shall work three hours more at night, then Bob 'ere can 
put in a bit more Sundays and Saturday afternoons, and 
there won't be you to feed^ and you know you always was a 
big feeder {she laughs). I'm beginning to think it'll be 
retrenchment and reform, same as they say on the posters — 
{more gravely). We shall get along somehow, on'y you 
must 'urry up and make your fortunes {her voice breaks), 



24 THE THUMBSCEEW 

3^ou won't want to have yer brothers and sisters in the work- 
house, so you must send me back some 'elp for the children — 

Joe (earnestly). That we will, Mrs. Field — If Ber- 
nice'll come I promise we'll 'elp you all we can. I shall 
make much more money there than 'ere — and tho' things 
do come more expensive I'm told, we'll be able to spare a 
bit — sure. Come, Bernice, give in ! 

Bernice. Very well — 

Joe. That's right (he puts his arms round her, and 
hugs her). 

Will (in a tone of excitement) . Mother! — come here — 
mother (Mrs. Dengate goes to him). This is a regular 
Bank Holiday. You've got Bernice's work — never mind 
how, but you've got it — four shillings a week isn't it? not 
much, but never mind — you've prevented somebody else 
having it anyway. And now Bernice's going to be married, 
and we must have a weddin' party. Pull the curtains right 
back — now, Mrs. Field, lend a hand — put your work away 
for once, we don't have weddin's every day — we don't have 
a Bernice getting married very often. 

[The Children stop expectantly. 

Mrs. F. We can't Will — we haven't arf done ! 

Will. Come, Joe, haven't 3^ou got a couple of shillings 
to spare — that would meet the case. 

Joe (unwiUingly). Yes — I can run to that, but I've 
got clothes to get (he puts the two shillings down on the 
table). 

Mrs. F. Thank you kindly, Joe — but I didn't ought 
to take it — and there's Bernice too, she ain't fit to be seen — 
but there ! we ain't no time to put her straight before to- 
morrow, anywa}^ 

[Mrs. Dengate and Bernice go to the 
curtain. 

Will. That's right, mother — pull them back, quite — 
I must be in this affair. We're going to have a jolly party ! 




THE THUMBSCREW 25 

Children — put your work down — I know how things ought 
to be done at weddin's (he laughs). 

[Bob, Fred, and Lucy jump up and begin 
skipping about — they call out. 

A party ! A party ! Will's giving a party ! 

[They run across to his bed — he kisses them 
all. 
Will. Now, children, listen to me — at weddin' parties 
two or three things always happen, and we're going to make 
them happen here. First we must drink the bride's health 
— now quick — what can we do, — I know — mother! get 
out the bottle the district visitor lady gave you for me, 

when I'm bad — brandy it is 

Mrs. D. No, Will, not the bottle, it pulls you round it 
does, and I can't buy you no more. 

Will. Never mind that — get it out I say. Now, Bob, 
you've got a glass, I know, ours is broke — I don't want to 
drink Bernice's health in a broke glass ! 

Lucy (who has run to fetch it). Here it is. Will. 

[Mrs. Dengate very unwillingly has gone 

to a cupboard and got out a bottle. Will holds 

it up to the light. 

Will. There's a good lot left — see — (he pours some out 

into the tumbler). Now, Bob, a little water please, it 

would make you splutter to drink it now. 

[Bob brings the water, and Will is just about 
to mix the drink when an idea strikes him. 
Will. I know — we'll have it hot! It'll be a lot more 
cheerful — quick, Fred — the kettle — you were talking about 
it just now. 

[Bernice has be&n standing with her hand in 
Joe's, but looking at Will, 
Bernice. I'll do it — [she goes to the fire — sees that 
the water is hot, and goes across to Will's bed. 



26 THE THUMBSCEEW 

Will. That's right, pour it in — now we must have a 
lump of sugar and a spoon ! 

[Lucy obediently runs and hrmgs both these. 

Will (stirring). It's ready now, and, crikey, isn't it 
good just ! Come on, mother, Mrs. Field — Joe — I'm going 
to make a speech first. (His hand and arm tremble, yet he 
holds the glass up.) Ladies and Gentlemen,^I've got a 
health to propose. This is to be a loving cup — first the 
bride will drink — God bless her — she'll stir the waters like 
the angel at the pool of Bethesda — and after that you'll 
all be well — Joe's bitter feelings will stop — and Mrs. Field 
won't worry no more, and mother sha'n't cry even in the 

dark — the children don't want anything bless them and 

I (he waits a moment). 

Bernice. Yes, Will — What for you ? 

Will. Well, there'll be rest for me (he laughs), that's 
all the healing I want. But now, ladies and gentlemen, if 
Bernice's going to do all this for us, what are we going 
to give her? We mustn't be behindhand! She's very 
rich already — beauty? — she's got it — health? — she's got 
something like it^love? well, all ours belongs to her, 
doesn't it? So there's nothing left to wish her but hap- 
piness. She's going into a new country where the people 
are just the same — only there's a little more room, and when 
they hustle each other it doesn't hurt so much. That's it, 
Joe, isn't it? — and Joe's going to take her, and look after 
her, and work for her, so that she can keep the red in her 
lips, and the laugh in her lovely eyes — Let what comes after 
— come! — Here, Bernice, drink! — it's the loving cup — 
drink . . . 

[Bernice kneels beside the bed and takes 
the glass and puts it to her lips. Then she hands 
it to Joe, who takes a good pull, and wipes his 
mouth with the back of his hand. The Chil- 
dren drink next. 



THE THUMBSCREW 27 

Mrs. F. (in a low tone). Only a drop, now, Bob — re- 
member, it's Will's medicine. 

[^[rs. Field and Mrs. Dengate scarcely do 

more than touch the liquid; his mother hands 

the glass back to Will, who looks at it with a 

quizzical expression. 

Will. Here's health to you, Bernice, here's wealth to 

you, here's a new life to you in another world 

[He begins to cough, then he drinks down 
all the rest and lies back exhausted, closing his 
eyes. Something in his tone has profoundly 
moved even Joe — he shakes himself roughly, and 
then bends down over Bernice and puts his arms 
round her. 
Joe. I'll be good to you, my girl — I will ! Trust your- 
self to me — and be ready to start to-morrow at ten — The 
kids shall all come, and see the ship, and see us start — I'll 

pay for them 

Bob. Golly! what a lark! 

Lucy. I want to see the anchor — 

Fred. Shall we go on the ship, Joe ? 

[They all three jump about to express their 
pleasure. 
Lucy. My ! I hope I sha'n't be sick. 

Mrs. D. Sick ! not you why the ship's steady same 

as this room till it starts. 

Bob. Then the fun begins — (he mimics) — ooop — 
dooown, ooop — dooown; I seed 'em at the 'oliday trip last 
year! 

Mrs. F. Don't, Bob, you make me feel queer like, just 
to think of it! 

Bob. Golly, don't I wish I was going too ! 
Fred. I'm going soon as I'm sixteen. 
Lucy. Taike me too, Fred, won't yer ? 
Mrs. D. {laughing). 



28 THE THUMBSCREW 

Joe {suddenly). 'Ave you got a warm coat, Bernice? — 
I'm told it can be terrible cold. 
Bernice. I've got my jacket. 

Will {opens his eyes, his cheeks are slightly flushed, and 
he holes better). Now, children, didn't I tell you there 
were two or three things which must happen at weddin's — 
we've drunk the bride's health — now comes the present- 
giving 

[The children look hlankly at one another. 
Bob {suddenly). There's my shell. I'll give her my 
shell {He goes to the mantelpiece and picks up a rather 
large shell, such as can often he found on the beach). 'Ere, 
Bernice, it ain't much — but you can 'ear the sea in it — 
{He puts it to his ear, smiling). 
Will {interested) . Can you? Let me try. 

[He holds the shell up to his ear, and seems 
to dream for a moment. 
Will. So you can — yes — the waves and the wind — all 
shut in a shell — like us — here, Bernice — here's Bob's 
present. 

Fred. I haven't got no shell nor nothing — 
Lucy. 'Ere's my comforter what the church gave me 
last Christmas — [She brings a ragged knitted comforter. 
Bernice. No, no, Luc}^ dear — it keeps you warm, I 
don't want it. 

Mrs. F. Bernice, 'ere's yer pore father's picture for yer, 
it's the only one I've got, 'cept the one in my Jet brooch — 
but you're welcome to it. 

Bernice. Thank you. [She begins to cry a little. 

Will {cheerfully). Now it's my turn. Mother, get 

down that old cape of mine which I used to go out in — it's 

no good to me now, and it'll keep Bernice lovely and warm. 

Bernice. No, Will, I can't — 

Will. Oh yes, you can ! you're going on the sea — be- 
sides, I want something from you — give me that grey shawl 



THE THUMBSCREW 29 

of yours. You wrapped me in it once when I was bad — 

that'll keep me fine and warm indoors — I want it — please. 

[Bernice hesitates for a moment. 

Will (with repressed eagerness). The shawl — quick, 

the shawl. 

[Bernice tal-es the shawl off a hoot, and 

wraps it round Will. Meanwhile Mrs. Den- 
gate has got down the cape. She comes and 
puts it on Bernice's shoulders. 
Mrs. D. (luith pride). For all it's a man's, you look 

fine in it. 

[Bernice mechanically pulls the cape up to 

her neck and stands still, looking almost dazed. 

The clock begins to strike. 

Mrs. F. Good Lord ! that's six ! We've wasted nearly 

an hour — come on, children, if we're going to 'ave a 'oliday 

to-morrow we must work late to-night — -come on now. 

[She hustles them hack to the tahle. 

Lucy (ivhimpering) . I'm tired. 

Mrs. F. Yes, you may be, we're all tired very often, 

but you've got to sort them 'ooks and eyes before you go to 

bed. 

[Obediently the Children climb to their 

chairs and begin to work. Bernice suddenly 

gives way — she holds out her arms wildly. 

Bernice. I can't go! — I can't go and leave them all 

like this — I can't go ! 

Joe (roughly, catching hold of her wrist). Don't- be a 

fool ! It's too late to draw back now. 

Bernice (wildly). No — No, it isn't — I can't do it, Joe 

— to think of me on that rolling ship, and them all here 

starvin' perhaps. Supposing mother falls ill, or anything 

happens — my heart's going to crack — it's going to crack — 

I can't go and leave them ! 

[Joe drops her hand and turns away. 

Joe. Blast you ! 



30 THE THUMBSCREW 

Bernice. You go firsts Joe ! make some money and send 
it back. I'll come out to you, I promise, when times are 
better. 

Joe. Better! I dare say you will — you and all your 
family are going to be a drag on me, are you ? I'm to have 
nothing, am I — you're to have my money same as if you was 
my wife — no fear ! — you be my wife and I'll try and do 
what I can for the rest ; but I must 'ave something back — I 
can't wait for a woman for years and years — it's now or 
never, my gal — understand that — if I go out alone I go my 
own way. I shall find someone else there right enough — 
never you fear — but if you're willing to go, I'm willing to 
take you and do the best by you. 

Bernice {moaning). I can't — I can't go now 

[There is a knock at the door, and Mrs. 
MuGGLE enters. 

Mrs. M. (sweetly). 'Ere I am again, you see, like a bad 
shillin', 'e 'e 'e (a pause). Well, what 'ave you decided? 

Bernice (stepping forward). Give me the work on the 
same terms as mother, and I'll take it. 

Mrs. M. (still more sweetly). I'm sorry — but I've been 
to a lot of places since I was 'ere, and in justice to myself 
I find I can't offer any more work at sevenpence 'alfpenny. 
I'm a woman of my word, and I'll stick to my word with 
Mrs. Field for the present — but I can't give no more work 
at sevenpence 'alfpenny ; your lodger 'ere was ready to take 
it at sevenpence — it'll 'ave to be sevenpence or none at all. 

Bernice (dully). All right — give me the stuff. 

[Mrs. Muggle goes to her perambulator, and 
hands Bernice a large roll of paper, cardboard, 
etc. : Bernice sits down at once. 

Mrs. M. Mrs. Dengate, there's an old woman down- 
stairs just dead; she wasn't up to much — only did her one 
pack a day — but there's her work waitin' — it was the walk 
to the works and back which killed 'er, they do say. She 



THE THUMBSCREW 31 

got ninepence — but then she 'ad to walk. You're new at 
tlie job, and I do the walk, so you may 'ave it for sixpence 
if you like. 

Mrs. D. Sixpence a pack, why, that's 'ardly four bob a 
week — Lor ! 

Mrs. M. {fiercely). You're not going to argufy with me 
now, are you? — you're lucky to 'ave the job — I've been 
asked for it all down the stairs — but I kept it for you, be- 
cause I knew Mrs. Field here would come to her senses and 
you would be disappointed. 

[She he gins pa chin g up her things. 

Mrs. D. I'll do it. 

Mrs. M. This'll be the price for everyone before long. 
You mark my words. 

Joe (to Mrs. Dengate). Blackleg! 

[Will throws hack his head and laughs half 
hysterically. Joe strides up to him. 

Joe. It's your fault about Bernice, stuffin' her head with 
your crazy notions ; look at her now, back at the old slavery ! 

Mrs. M. Good evening. [She opens the door, wheels 
her peramhulator out, and closes the door hehind her. 

Joe. You 'aven't got a bit of spunk in you, any of you 
women ! You don't deserve the vote, nor nothin' else. I 
never see such a pore-spirited lot in my life. I thought 
Bernice was a cut above this, but she's as bad as the rest. 
She'd never do in a new country, and I declare I'm niore'n 
'alf glad she ain't going to try it. 

[He he gins to move towards the door, hut the 
sight of Bernice stops him. He goes to her, 
and roughly takes the work out of her hands. 

Joe. Come with me — don't be a fool — it's now or never 
— Come with me, or stay here and rot ! 

Bernice. I can't go — I can't leave them. 

Joe (m a hard tone). Then it's good-bye for ever. 
You understand that, don't you — 'ere's the pin you gave me 



32 THE THUMBSCEEW 

once, and I'll trouble 3^ou for that there brooch I gave you — 
the stone's good. 

[Bernice ohediently unfastens the brooch at 
her throat and lays it on the table, instantly 
resuming her work. 
Mrs. F. {with her apron to her eyes). Oh, Bernice, 
dear ! are you sure you're right ? 

Joe. Good-bye. You 'aven't an ounce of pluck or 
spirit ! 

Bernice. No. I haven't. 
Joe. Well, good-bye, then. 
Bernice. Good-bye. 

[No one moves. Just as Joe reaches the 
door Will lifts himself in bed. 
Will. Good-bye, Joe — Good luck! my way's the best, 
after all ! There's no fare to pay where I'm going — ha ! — 
ha ! — good-bye. 

[Joe goes out. Mrs. Dengate to Bernice. 
Mrs. D. Can you tell me 'ow to fold these things, my 
dear ? 

Bernice {moving a little). Come and sit here and 
watch me — I'll show you. 

Mrs. D. Thank you, kindly — I'll just draw the curtain 
first; it's 'igh time Will was asleep. 

[She draws the curtain wliich divides the 
room in two, and sits down by Bernice. 
Fred. Sha'n't we see the ship now, mother? 
Mrs. F. 'Old your tongue ! Now then, Lucy, don't go 
to sleep — pass me them cards. 

[The curtain goes down on the whole family 
bent over their ivorTc. 

Edith Lyttelton. 



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